


Each sip, one more step (Lucky13 #1)

by megyal



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Drunkenness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:04:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mead in Asgard is a very serious undertaking, especially when drinking at Thor's house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Each sip, one more step (Lucky13 #1)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my Lucky 13 prompt list! Trope: _Drunk!fic_ for vix_spes@LJ. I know nothing of science, so if you're a scientist and my science sounds weird, IT IS. I AM SO SORRY, SCIENTISTS. Unbeta'ed, so please forgive any mistakes, and kindly point them out so I can correct them. :D

_First sip, I stumble gently over the threshold_  
 _Each sip, one more step into another world_  
 _Tentative steps, then bold, then giddy skipping along the path_ ,  
 _One more sip._  
~Terri Guillemets, "Red Wine"

Avenging is hard work; people keep coming up with very inventive ways to destroy the world, it's so insane. Clint wonders how these jackasses have the time, seriously. Coulson's dry opinion of that would include--

\--and he still keeps doing that, shit, even after six months. Keeps forgetting that Coulson is _gone_ , murdered. He was killed on the job, which, considering Coulson's capable dedication to duty, was just the way he wanted to go. That doesn't stop the intense crushing sensation in Clint's chest whenever he thinks about it.

Having Sitwell and Hill as the Avengers' handlers and liaisons isn't so bad. It's awesome, really. Both are really good at what they do, and they manage to keep Steve and Tony from snarking each other to death in meetings (mostly by leaving them alone. More than seventy percent of Steve and Tony's snark is actually quite affectionate; makes Clint miss the banter he had with Coulson). They're good people, and it's obvious that they miss Coulson too, from the way Sitwell sits alone at lunch in HQ, or how Hill looks at Clint sometimes, her gaze thoughtful and hard all at once.

"You fuckers need a holiday," Fury informs them in a meeting one day, after they barely manage to stop some jackass from gouging out a moon-sized hole somewhere in the Pacific. Clint is feeling pain on top of pain, and Nat's in Medical, so he's pretty grumpy. Bruce and Tony are slumped against each other at one end of the table; Steve actually has his head down, half-asleep on the table. Thor, the lucky asshole, is back in Asgard for some quick diplomatic shit, which probably explains why they'd come so close to losing today. Sitwell and Hill are entering data on their slim comm-pads, not even looking up when Fury makes this awesome declaration.

"To where, sir?" Clint asks. "There's nowhere on this planet that we can take a vacation without some villain making a big deal about it."

"I have an island," Tony says and snuggles even closer to Bruce. "Somewhere. Maybe two."

"Barton's right," Fury says, wrinkling his nose briefly at Tony. "Thor's sent an invitation for all of you to get some time-off at his big-ass castle." Fury holds up a hand, silencing Clint before he even opens his mouth. "I'll alert the Four and Charles Xavier. Let them pick up the slack for a week."

"A whole week!" Tony pops up, sitting straight in his seat. "In Asgard! Bruce. Bruce, baby, think of all the science they have in Asgard."

Even though he looks just as tired as the rest of them, Bruce's eyes light up. "Genetic harmonization."

"Cyclic propulsion systems," Tony says in a hushed tone.

"RNA retro-splicing," Bruce says, very warmly.

"Maybe we shouldn't go to Asgard," Steve says, eying the two of them suspiciously. 

"You're going," Fury states and for some reason he's smiling a little at Clint. Clint is slightly concerned. "You're _all_ going."

\--

"Friends," Thor says and he holds his arms open wide. He's either encompassing them all in greeting as they descend out of the carriages or indicating the size of his massive castle. Thor's grand reach and grander biceps do the place justice, because it is colossal. It rises up out of the grassy plains as if it had been created at the dawn of time, forged of stone, metal and sheer alien doggedness. Clint just blinks up at it, feeling the light pressure of Nat's hand on his shoulder as she steps into Asgard's old, old daylight. 

"Friends," Thor repeats, and gives all of them very heavy, very happy stares. He grins outright at Clint, and Clint grins back. Thor is all kinds of fun. "You are all welcome! Please, please. My home is yours for as long as you see fit to take your rest. Or, for just a Midgardian week, as The Fury indicates." Thor shrugs with a grin; he likes infuriating The Fury. "Anything you wish."

"This place is huge," Tony says, currently the self-appointed Captain Obvious of their rag-tag group, gazing all around as they climb the staircase leading to the arched entry. Cloaked servants, unobtrusive and quick, lift their luggage. Clint barely restrains himself from grabbing his own bag and twitches his shoulders when Nat gives him a questioning glance.

"You have your own rooms," Thor tells them as they troop along a wide corridor which winds up and up, past wide rooms and quiet gardens, long banquet halls and about a billion bathing rooms. Clint can't imagine why someone would need so many bathing rooms, but Asgard, whatever. "After dinner, I have planned a giant-worm hunt as an introduction to our recreation!"

Clint doesn't know whether to groan in despair or get excited. Giant worms! On the other hand, oh god, _giant worms._

"Uh," Bruce says, turning to blink up at Thor. "I thought this was a holiday?"

"Of course it is," Thor says, his eyes twinkling. There is a gentle laugh underneath his voice. "I was, as Tony likes to say, only kidding."

"I don't say that." Tony squints at everyone. "Do I say that? Do I say it like that? I don't. Do I, Bruce?"

"You do," Steve says before Bruce can find a more diplomatic phrasing. "All the time, even when you're not kidding."

"Lies, Captain Snowflake," Tony declares. "Fallacies."

"I will see you all at dinner," Thor cuts in. "There is…a gift for you all."

"I hope it's alcohol," Nat mutters under her breath, and slips into the room which Thor had pointed out, disappearing into the shadows before closing the door. When Clint gets to his own room, he looks around with a small smile. Most of the floor is bare, the floor a comforting mixture of sturdy, polished timber and thick carpeting. There are some pieces of furniture, mostly low, plush seats. The bed is on-high: a ladder that looks more like a living tree than a constructed artifact clambers up a metallic surface that gleams dully in the fading evening light, leading to a network of spreading branches overhead. Clint can see where these branches are fastened to the wall and they look really sturdy. He can also see the undersides of massive pillows and piles of fluffy blankets.

"Sir," a soft voice says behind him and Clint whirls around, surprised that one of the cloaked servants could have snuck up on him so effectively. Clint stares at the individual. He can't tell their gender because their faces are in shadow from the cowl pulled over their face. A sense of peaceful strength emanates from them.

"Is everything to your liking, sir?" 

"Yeah," Clint says, and glances up at the tree-bed. Fucking ridiculous and awesome. His place at the Stark Tower is his home, and he loves it. Tony had given him complete decorative control, and at first he'd been so wary of touching anything, changing it to suit himself, because who knew how long he'd be at the Tower, anyway? Now he has pictures on shelves. He has shoes in a closet. He has a kitchen, his _own kitchen_ that he uses now and again, and sometimes the other assholes sidle in and scarf down the simple pasta dishes that Clint has taught himself to make.

"It's great," he says, and the servant bows deeply.

"Dinner is served in the Hall of the Goats." The servant pauses and says, with amusement colouring the soft voice, "The name does not do the hall justice, sir."

"I hope not," Clint says, and he laughs. He laughs out loud. He stands beneath the tree-bed that is probably Thor's idea of a joke and a solemn gesture all at once. The laugh feels strange and strong in his chest and throat. The servant turns aside, opens the door for him and Clint steps through, still laughing because it feels good.  
\--

The Hall of the Goats has a decorative montage of, get this, _goats_ , carved into the walls a little above eye-level. The goats are engaged in activities from innocuous eating to vivacious copulation, and Tony delights in pointing out each mating-scene to Steve.

"Goat penis is not exactly shocking to me, Tony," Steve tells him, and takes a sip of mead. He stares at the large goblet in his hand. Clint imagines that he sees Steve's cheeks go pink, and his eyes get a little shine in 'em. "Wow."

"What?" Tony says. "Cap, you okay, there?"

"Maybe mead can get me drunk," Steve says and takes another sip. He lets out a massive yawn, weirdly. "Okay so that's not a maybe."

Tony looks as if all his birthdays have come at once. "This… _this_ makes you feel tipsy? Bruce, quick," he says, turning towards Bruce, who pulls out a small pen-shaped object out of his pocket and plops it into his own large goblet. The end of the pen lights up immediately, emitting urgent little green flashes.

"Well," Bruce says.

"Well," Tony repeats and both of their dark eyebrows have the same angle of scientific inquiry. "I don't think I should drink this. Right. Not gonna drink this, sorry Thor."

"That's quite alright," Thor says, and it's interesting to Clint to witness this part of Thor, the gracious princely host.

"I won't, either," Bruce says and gives Tony a small, supportive little smile.

"Probably we can recreate this back home?" Tony wrinkles his nose and Clint takes a sip of his own mead. It's sweeter than he'd expected, but not too cloying. He glances at Nat's face; she's on her third goblet, but her dour expression is just about the same, which means she's digging the alcoholic part of these proceedings.

It's after his fourth generous sip that the effects of the mead hit him like a train made of light and air; he feels as if he's floating and it's interesting, in a disconcerting way. He's laughing at everything and when Thor gets up to make yet another speech, Clint giggles through most of it, although he hears Thor going on about _didn't want to tell you all until we were very, very sure_ and _Asgardian magic was put to great use for our friend_. One of the servants, the one that had summoned Clint, is at Thor's arm like a shadow; Clint isn't sure he knows that this is the person who'd led him to the Hall of Goats. Wait, yes he does. This one is shorter and slighter than all the others.

Thor turns to the servant and says something, a quiet phrase that sounds very encouraging to Clint's ears. The servant hesitates; in that short beat, Clint takes three more quick sips. When the servant reaches up and pulls back the hood that covers their face, Clint just sits there, staring at Phil Coulson's beautiful, beautiful face. There is an uproar from the others, but it's distant, as if they're exclaiming from Earth.

"Hello," Phil says, greeting everyone and yet gazing at Clint as if they're the only two people in the room right now. 

Clint tears his gaze away from the apparition and blinks at his goblet.

This mead is some serious shit.

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> The 'mead-getting-Steve-drunk' thing is inspired by this fic: http://archiveofourown.org/works/693004 and I'm sure there are a BUNCH of other awesome fics with that.


End file.
